Page 52 of Murder Most Haunted

Bridie, Rona, Harold, Noah and Midge gathered outside around the body and ascertained that it was indeed Dr Mortimer. Despite having no formal verification from a medical professional, they also ascertained that he was indeed definitely dead.

His body seemed partially frozen in the snow, where he lay face up, his limbs splayed out in a manner that reminded Midge of the snow angels children made in the park.

He had been shot.

‘Oh my God, poor Gloria!’ cried Rona, bending down to touch him.

Midge pulled her back just in time. ‘Don’t!’ she said. ‘You mustn’t touch anything. Gloria’s still asleep – I checked.’

‘What’s happened?’ cried Bridie, wringing her hands. ‘Has someone done this?’

The weather had turned dark and overcast again, with sleet starting to fall to the ground.

Midge moved forward, her feet crunching on the snow, and began to use her cane to scratch a perimeter around the body.

The doctor’s chest had one large wound in it, the blood staining through to his coat.

‘It looks like any footprints have been covered by the fresh snowfall this morning,’ mused Midge.

‘How are we going to tell Gloria!’ gasped Rona, tears in her eyes.

‘Has he shot himself?’ asked Noah.

‘Don’t be so bloody daft,’ said Harold. ‘Can you see a gun? Or do you think he shot himself and then ran around for a bit afterwards trying to hide the weapon?’

‘The missing gun!’ cried Rona, her eyes wide. ‘From the cabinet! You know, the one that went missing just as she arrived.’ She was pointing at Bridie.

‘I hope you aren’t suggesting that I had anything to do with it?’ said Bridie.

‘Of course not, it’s the White Lady!’ said Noah. ‘Don’t you remember? The doctor saw the ghost as well as Rendell, didn’t he?’

‘How long do you reckon he’s been out here?’ asked Harold, ignoring him.

The body was starting to stiffen, but it didn’t look to Midge as if rigor mortis had properly set in. ‘I think he’s been here quite a few hours.’

‘But that doesn’t make sense,’ cried Rona, her shoulders heaving. ‘He wasn’t going to leave until the morning.’

Bridie had started coughing quite heavily, pulling her coat closer around her. ‘Bridie, would you take Rona inside, please,’ asked Midge, knowing Bridie would never go in of her own accord. ‘Make her a drink or something.’

Surprisingly, Bridie acquiesced and led a visibly distraught Rona back into the house.

‘Is he going to vomit again?’ asked Harold, pointing at Noah, who had just registered all the blood.

‘Two murders –’ Midge held up a finger to stop Harold from interrupting – ‘and no help coming.’

‘It’s the ghost,’ murmured Noah. ‘I keep telling you.’

‘I’m starting to think he’s got a point,’ remarked Harold to Midge, stamping his feet on the ground to warm them up.

‘Do you believe in Father Christmas too?’ sighed Midge.

‘What are we going to do with . . . with him?’ asked Noah, flapping his hand down at the body. ‘We can’t fit him in the bath with Rendell.’

Midge looked at the white lawn around them, gripping her cane to keep her fingers warm. ‘The snow and air temperature should preserve things enough for any forensic team that eventually arrives. As long as nothing is disturbed.’

Noah, with an audible sigh of relief, went to follow Midge as she headed back to the house, but they both stopped after a few steps when they realized they had left Harold behind, still standing beside Dr Mortimer. His head was bowed and he appeared to be murmuring something to himself.

‘Are you saying a prayer?’ called Noah, groaning.

Harold waved his arm down at the doctor. ‘It doesn’t seem right to just leave him like this, without saying a few words.’

Midge came back, followed by Noah, who was wiping the snow from his cheeks.

Harold cleared his throat. ‘The only thing is that I don’t really know any. Apart from “He’s Got The Whole World In His Hands”, and I think that might be a hymn.’

‘As the veil between worlds thins, may the spirits guide you through the ethereal realms,’ said Noah, before abruptly beating both arms across his chest. ‘It’s the paranormal investigators’ last rite,’ he muttered, responding to Midge’s bemused look.

‘I only know one prayer,’ she said. ‘Our Father, who art in heaven, hallowed be thy name; thy kingdom come, thy will be done, on earth as it is in heaven. Give us this day our daily bread. And forgive us our trespasses, as we forgive those who trespass against us. And lead us not into temptation; but deliver us from evil.’

After which, it occurred to Midge that she had recited the same thing when they had buried the cat in the garden.

‘Shouldn’t we say something about him?’ said Harold. ‘About his life?’

‘We didn’t really know him,’ pointed out Noah.

Midge stared down at the sheepskin coat and cleared her throat. ‘RIP Andrew Mortimer. If you had met him, you would have liked him.’

‘Amen,’ said Harold, solemnly, as snowflakes settled on his toupé.

And with that, the three of them turned their backs on Dr Mortimer and trudged back through the falling snow to the house.